


A Chain is Made of Ones and Zeroes

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Of the Kriestly kind, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Tattoos, Villain snuggles, pillowtalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 01:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: Ken has a tattoo which Priest is delighted to discover. What it means is up to him.





	A Chain is Made of Ones and Zeroes

Ken knows the moment Priest sees his tattoo – not (just) because he credits Priest with at least some level of observation, but from the way the man goes completely still and then surges forward before freezing again. He doesn't need a camera to know how Priest is hovered just so, just shy of sinking his teeth in. The same thing happened on finding the small mole on Ken's thigh, or the faintest scar on his arm. Priest is, unsurprisingly, a very physical 'person' and even more so when freely given such unparalleled access to someone's body. After their first exchange of touches Ken could have sworn he could feel the whorls of Priest's fingerprints embedded in his skin, and it's only escalated from there.

"Oh sweetheart," Priest hums, "oh darling, oh my babydoll. Haven't you been a bad girl?"

Ken huffs. "I told you I don't care for that. If you want a girl, go find one. I have work to do."

Fingers clenched around his jaw, enough that Ken can't turn his head but still leaving his lips free. Riled as Priest is – as he always is, constantly one step away from snapping loose of the leash he gives to nobody but Ken – he never can quite bring himself to cover Ken's mouth. That's good: they'll never have to find out what'll happen when Ken bites down.

"You've got some problems with _affection_ there, Kenny dear," Priest says, his breath still warm against that one marked patch of Ken's skin. "But I'll let it go, for _you_ , sugar – " Ken lets his eyes fall shut in exasperation and he can still _see_ the swoon which goes with that exaggerated sigh " – if you just tell me what _this_ is doing here."

The waist is hardly the most sensitive area of the body. That's not why Ken chose it – it's easy to cover up but easy to see if he needs it – but it means there's no reason for the jolt which runs through him when Priest pinches. It's not pain, even if Priest shows no understanding of how much force is appropriate at any one time. It's not pain.

"Speak up, buttercup."

"If you sing I'm kicking you out."

An extra twist to the pinch. Ken's face doesn't change. Priest can't see this, head lowered to scent better, but this isn't about some masculine bullshit.

"It's binary."

"Well, I can see that, starshine," Priest drawls – that is, speaks in a way which just stretches out the vowels until Scarlett O'Hara's biggest fan would blush. "That's like saying je veux te baiser is _French_."

Ken might not speak French but he has read Priest's file, so he knows with a weary smile that brushes those tensed fingers what Priest must be saying. Unpredictable as he is, those surprises are more in the field than in his idea of humour.

"I told you."

Priest pauses, tapping a metronome against Ken's spine. No doubt he could push all the way through if he just found the right spot. "Now, I know you didn't write _that_ , peach."

Not much of an endearment. Priest hates repetition as much as Ken does, but that means that cool reptile mind is turning over something else right now, whirring as surely as a computer fan.

"But I did tell you."

The air moves as Priest inhales so slowly and lets it out more so, the only sound in the room. His hands move against Ken's skin, idly tracing, massaging, scratching barely deep enough to even turn it pale. In the steadiness of it all, Ken thinks idly of the gifs the employees send each other of cats kneading their friends.

"If you need time," he murmurs to the pillow, "I have work I can be doing."

Priest's hand closes over the back of his neck. Not a credible threat: all Ken would have to do is start to sit up and Priest would fall back. That's the game they play – in public too, if they had to.

A blunt nail scrapes down the straight lines, digs in to follow the curves.

Ken doesn't speak French. He doesn't have to.

"Now, isn't that a little redundant, sunshine?"

Ken smiles. "It's what matters."

Binary is binary. There are so many ways to see the world that sometimes Ken needs to be reminded how everybody else thinks.

The slick rasp of a tongue and Priest's teeth dig in around the ones and zeroes. Ken sighs patiently and reaches back to lay a hand on that head, steadily brushing through fiery strands. He wonders whether Priest believes him; whether Priest knows all the things Ken could have said; whether Priest realises what Ken is doing.

Maybe Ken needs some more work done.


End file.
